


Quarantine And Chill

by Haicrescendo



Series: Quarantine And Chill 2020 [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bedsharing, Idiots in Love, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Pining, Sokka is just here for the food, Zuko is the king of Trader Joe’s, Zuko the romantic masquerading as a nihilist, almost dying in the shower, gratuitous handwashing propaganda, horny on main, idiots to lovers, service top Sokka, thanks covid-19 for making everyone horny as shit, that thing when you live with your best friend and also he’s the love of your life, this fic is a coping mechanism for the author’s existential dread, this is dumb slutty garbage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:34:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23583157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haicrescendo/pseuds/Haicrescendo
Summary: [Zuko hasn’t left the house in six days and he hasn’t put on real pants in three.He has never been this excited to go grocery shopping in his life.“Sokka! You’re taking forever! Hurry up.”“Dude, I think I forgot how to do my hair,” Sokka yells back from the bathroom.]Or,Life is hard when you’re in lockdown and in huge stupid love with your roommate.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Quarantine And Chill 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1722742
Comments: 449
Kudos: 5992
Collections: Best of: Avatar The Last Airbender, HZH Horny ATLA Fic, Series that I want to read once they are complete, avataner





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is by no means intended to make light of the state of the world. This fic exists as a coping mechanism because this is how I’m handling it. If the subject matter makes you uncomfortable or this isn’t the kind of thing that brings you comfort, I certainly won’t be offended if this isn’t something you want to read. It brought me a lot of comfort and made me feel better to write it, so hopefully it helps somebody else feel a little better about things too.
> 
> As always, if you did enjoy this fic, please let me know in a comment! I can also be found posting sneak peeks and also screaming on tumblr @sword-and-stars.

* * *

  
Zuko hasn’t left the house in six days and he hasn’t put on real pants in three.

He has never been this excited to go grocery shopping in his life.

“Sokka! You’re taking forever! Hurry up.”

“Dude, I think I forgot how to do my hair,” Sokka yells back from the bathroom.

“I’m sure that it’s fine,” Zuko grumbles, double checking the lists he’s made, one written all in blue and one in red. He’s mapped out the Trader Joe’s from what he remembers and a floor plan he found online and made their respective shopping lists accordingly.

Divide and conquer.

“If we get there and they’re out of clementines because you forgot how to do your hair, I’m never going to forgive you.”

“If they are out of clementines—“ Sokka’s voice cuts out briefly for a moment of concentration and then he flings open the bathroom door, “I will find an orchard and pick you some myself. Okay? At least your hands remember how to use a hair tie.”

Zuko levels him with an unimpressed golden stare and tugs at a lock of his own dark hair, tied up neatly in a ponytail.

“Does this mess look like it can handle a quarantine? No, it can’t. Brush your damn hair every day and you won’t have so much trouble.”

Sokka mockingly mouths along with him when he thinks that Zuko’s not looking but nevertheless takes the list that he’s handed.

“I’ve got half and you’ve got half, arranged by the most efficient path through the store,” Zuko tells him, because some people have reacted to quarantine by forgetting what day it is, and other people have responded by becoming more neurotic and control-freaky than humanly possible. Sokka forgives him for it, because sometimes he’d rather make anal-retentive shopping lists than admit that he genuinely doesn’t know whether it’s Tuesday or Saturday without looking at his phone.

What are days?

What is time?

“A pointless figment constructed by humanity to make sense of the world around us,” Zuko says without looking up from where he’s hunting for his car keys from the depths of the couch cushions. 

“You fucking nerd.”

“At least I know what day it is.”

Touché.

Zuko announces finding his keys with a triumphant _a-ha_ , pulling them out from the back of the couch and jingling them. 

It’s not right that Sokka can go nearly a week without brushing his hair and still make Zuko’s heart go off like a thunderclap. Zuko watched him eat a bowl of pasta topped with a Kraft single for breakfast this morning and somehow, _somehow_ , still wants to climb him like he’s a koala and Sokka’s eucalyptus.

It’s inhumanly, _cosmically_ unfair. In every way.

“If you drive there and manage to park without starting a fight in the lot, I’ll drive back,” Sokka offers with a waggle of his eyebrows, further cementing himself as The Love Of Zuko’s Life, However Long That Lasts.

“Done,” Zuko replies without missing a beat, knowing full well that he will regret it.

* * *

Trader Joe’s is a crazy house, and Zuko doesn’t start a fight in the parking lot, but it’s a close thing. It’s not even that crowded but it’s like everyone has forgotten how to drive the instant a city-wide quarantine was announced, and Zuko’s the only one who’s managed to maintain any sense at all.

Or so he thinks.

Sokka’s giving him some pretty interesting looks at some of the profanity that comes out of Zuko’s mouth, and makes a point at double checking the child safety locks. Which is patently ridiculous because Zuko is the one driving.

Who would let a baby drive, anyway?

“That’s not the point,” Sokka says, “I’m not dealing with cops because _you_ had to have a knock down drag out with Karen in her minivan.”

Zuko pats his steering wheel. His Mazda would _never_ lose out to some minivan. His baby is a sexy yet sensible four-door that can fit into any parking spot he likes. Karen’s minivan doesn’t stand a chance.

God, he’s hungry. Maybe he should have sucked it up and eaten some of Sokka’s horrible cheese pasta breakfast when he’d offered the first time, instead of the last granola bar.

“We’ll get separate carts and consolidate at check-out,” Zuko orders, because this is his plan and it is a good one. Out of the two of them, Sokka’s normally the plan guy, but he hasn’t brushed his hair in nearly a week and Zuko has least put on actual pants more recently. He deserves this. “You’ve got your half of the list?”

Sokka sighs at him but the look on his face is warm and indulgent and Zuko can’t look at it for too long without feeling stupid and fizzy.

“ _Yes,_ Your Majesty, I have my half of the list.”

Sokka waves it at him for emphasis.

“Do you have a pen to cross things off?”

“Oh my _god._ ”

“I knew this would happen. Here.” The seriousness with which Zuko hands Sokka his red pen to go with his blue list is maybe a little bit unnecessary, but he doesn’t call him out on it. People cope in different ways, Zuko’s way just so happens to turn him into an absolute crazy person. Their apartment has never been cleaner.

* * *

Zuko may have managed to not start any fistfights in the parking lot but he never said anything about inside the store itself. He’s trying really, really hard to maintain a socially appropriate distance from people but if the lady in the pink coat doesn’t quit fondling every single jar of salsa, Zuko might have to change that.

He just wants his damn salsa; he just wants his damn tahini.

Why is there no toilet paper? This is not hurricane season, there’s no monsoon on the horizon, so _why_ is there no goddamned toilet paper? Luckily, that’s not a thing on the list because Sokka has a Costco card that Zuko takes regular and shameless advantage of, but that’s not the point.

The point is that there is no reason for there to not be toilet paper, and Zuko is annoyed about it on principle.

Zuko’s dad may have been a worthless garbage man who only ever gave him one thing, but that one thing is coming in incredibly handy right now in the form of making Zuko look intimidating and scary, even as he mentally pleads with Pink Coat Lady to _please hurry up so he can get his shit_. People see the scar and scatter, which usually makes Zuko feel pretty crappy but today it makes him feel powerful.

Zuko is the king of Trader Joe’s.

Unfortunately, the king of Trader Joe’s nearly has a conniption when he pulls the last package of strawberry and banana yogurt off the shelf and an older guy tries to swipe it right out of his hands, and only a familiar arm curling around his shoulders and yanking him backwards saves the man from certain death.

“Don’t start,” Sokka warns him firmly. “Today, just let it go.”

Zuko, frozen like a statue and held very close to Sokka’s chest, can’t move even if he wanted to.

He lets it go.

Sokka’s cart is very full. Fuller than it should be, even with the list.

“Sokka.”

“Listen, okay—“

“ _Sokka_.” Zuko made the list for a reason. Their budget isn’t huge and both of them being able to work from home with limited success only does so much right now, and he’s so tired of life being so weird and not having a real schedule and not being able to see his Uncle. It makes him feel like he’s just pretending to be a person.

Zuko spent most of his life faking it.

He doesn’t want to go back.

“Dude, I am so hungry and _so tired of pasta_. Will I admit that I don’t even remember about half of what I grabbed? No. Will I deny it? Also no. It’s stuff we _like_ , man, even if it’s not on your list. Just—it’ll be fine.” Sokka reaches out to put his hands on Zuko’s shoulders, squeezes firmly. “You’re hungry and you’re stressy and nobody’s having fun here. Let’s just buy the food and go home.”

They buy the food and go home. 

Sokka does end up driving but he doesn’t mind, because it gives Zuko the chance to press his forehead against the window and let himself drift. He doesn’t normally like being the passenger but it’s fine if it’s Sokka; he’s a good driver and knows how to drive Zuko’s car without slamming the gas or brakes at every light.

It’s not a long enough drive to sleep but he manages to rest a little anyway.

“Why am I tired? I haven’t left the house in a week. I’ve been sleeping, like, twelve hours a day,” Sokka mumbles after they carry the groceries inside.

“I’ll trade you,” Zuko says, because he’ll take twelve hour depression naps over the two hours he’s been averaging nightly, and that’s if he’s lucky. He means it as a joke, mostly, but Sokka still looks up sharply, cocks his head.

That look makes Zuko feel like a little bug under a magnifying glass. As much as he normally enjoys being the focus of Sokka’s attention, that look just makes him feel exposed instead.

“You’re not sleeping?”

“Not well,” Zuko admits, grateful for a chance to turn away to put the milk into the fridge. Make no mistake, he’s blocked out a good, healthy eight hours in his schedule for sleeping, but it should more accurately be labeled Laying Awake And Paralyzed With Anxiety About The State Of Existence As We Know It.

Sokka’s coping mechanisms, as usual, are better than his. When Sokka hasn’t been working or sleeping, he’s managed to make a side gig out of taking donations from his Twitch followers to stream video games shirtless.

If asked whether he’d tuned into said streams every so often, Zuko would not pass a polygraph.

The feelings he’s been harboring for his roommate are...inconvenient. He’s been sitting on them since high school, and Zuko doesn’t think he can call it a crush anymore. They’re too big and too much for a crush. A crush generally doesn’t survive actually knowing someone, and Zuko has been living with Sokka since college. He knows him, and he _loves_ him, and he knows that it won’t ever go anywhere.

Toph thinks that he is an idiot.

She’s probably not wrong.

He can never tell him, though. Sokka is the best friend that Zuko has ever had in his life, and he’s not going to ruin that. He would sooner die than give him up, even if that means dying a little inside every time Sokka comes out of the bathroom in a towel.

Sokka is kind and cares hard about other people, and he’d do his best to be normal about it but if Zuko spills his guts, it’ll never be normal again. Zuko can lose anything else, but that’s the one thing he doesn’t think that he can handle.

“--unch?”

Zuko jerks.

“What? Sorry, I wasn’t listening.”

“Clearly,” Sokka says. “I asked what you wanted to have for lunch.”

Zuko shrugs, appetite gone. Thinking about how his love life is going nowhere fast always makes his stomach twist.

“I’m good.”

“All that fussing about my pasta this morning and now you’re not hungry? Sounds like bullshit.” Sokka frowns at him, reaches into the freezer to pull out a bag of orange chicken, and shakes it at him. “Hear that? That’s the sound of joy.”

“You go ahead,” Zuko says, “I’m gonna shower.” It’s the middle of the afternoon and Zuko’s a night shower kind of guy, but some hot water and steam can’t hurt. 

* * *

The hot water and steam _do_ help, in the end.

What also helps is rubbing one out in the name of stress relief, but that’s Zuko’s business and nobody else’s. Who he thinks about while relieving stress is also nobody else’s business, except that it’s a person whose name starts with S and ends in -okka. Every time Zuko tells himself that he’s never going to use him as jack-off material again and every time he turns out to be a damn dirty liar.

The pounding on the door the half second he’s done nearly gives him a heart attack.

“ _What_?” Zuko snaps, and nearly goes lightheaded with horror at how shaky his post-orgasm voice is. “I’m not allowed to shower in peace anymore?”

“Dude, I need soap.”

“ _Check under the sink_.”

“It’s not there,” Sokka pleads from outside the door, “I gotta wash my hands. I touched chicken. I touched my _face_. _I’m bad at things_. Please let me come get the soap.”

Zuko cannot believe this, and stares at Sokka’s bar of Irish Spring as if it personally had done this to him. This is his punishment for jerking it to thoughts of his best friend. This is divine justice for falling in love in the first place.

“Come on. The longer I touch the doorknob, the longer you have to bleach it!”

“ _Stop touching the goddamn doorknob._ Just hurry up and get your stupid soap!” Zuko grumbles. 

Fuck. _Fucking goddamn shit._ Sokka is coming into this hot, steamy bathroom, and Zuko is _naked_ , and just came all over himself to the thought of him just a few minutes ago. Zuko might be having a panic attack. Hell, he might be having a _heart attack_.

The sound of the bathroom door opening with a quiet click sounds deafening in Zuko’s ears, and he backs himself into the corner out the shower, out of the spray and far away from the soaps and bottles on the caddy.

Sokka is here in this bathroom, and Zuko is naked and absolutely terrified.

“Just—okay, hold on a second,” the shower curtain slides open the tiniest bit, and Zuko has just enough time to see a dark-skinned hand and forearm pop into the shower before he’s slamming his eyes shut and praying for death to come take him away.

“I know that you’re not washing your hands in the middle of my shower,” he grits out when Sokka grabs the soap and doesn't immediately leave. There’s a suspicious pause.

“Listen, I'd have to bring it back anyway.”

“You could just leave it in the kitchen, where there’s apparently no soap,” Zuko points out. He desperately needs Sokka to leave. He needs him to leave so badly.

Sokka does not leave, and all Zuko can hear is the sound of sudsing up his hands and then the sound of scrubbing.

“Twenty seconds, Sokka.”

“I can count.”

Twenty seconds seem to last forever, but Zuko suddenly has a burst of hope that he can survive this. It’ll be okay. Sokka’s just gonna wash his hands and then leave and then Zuko can file this memory away in his little folder of things to obsessively fixate on in the middle of the night.

Zuko should know better than to have hope.

Zuko miscalculates where he’s standing, and when he shifts backwards he slips on the slope of the tub. Is this how he dies? All that time and effort Ozai put into it and this is how he goes, cracking his head open, naked in the shower with his beautiful roommate?

Fuck.

Zuko flails and makes a frantic grab for something, anything, and doesn’t realize the panicked noise that tears itself from his throat until he hears Sokka go “Oh, shit!” And then the sound of the shower curtain being wrenched open.

And then there are hands on Zuko’s bare, wet arms, and he’s being grabbed before he can hit his head on the tub and die. Sokka hauls Zuko to his feet and Zuko goes very, very still. It’s been, like, a thousand years since he started to fall, and Zuko thinks that maybe he’ll spend a thousand more, a frozen, naked statue in the clutches of his beautiful roommate.

His beautiful roommate who’s _staring_ directly into Zuko’s eyes and just as frozen.

And then Sokka swallows hard, and Zuko’s very, very aware of how strong his grip is on him and how every inch of skin-to-skin contact fizzes and spits. Sokka lets out a very slow, quiet, raggedy breath and licks his lips.

And quickly, so quickly, his gaze darts downwards and back up, so quickly that Zuko almost doesn’t catch it. But he does catch it.

Zuko’s toes curl.

“Are you…” Sokka’s voice is hoarse even though he hasn’t been shouting, “Are you okay?”

“I-I’m fine,” Zuko whispers. He should pull away, or push Sokka out of the shower. He should make a grab for the curtain to try and cover himself up. He should _definitely_ at least pretend that he doesn’t like having Sokka’s hands on him.

Zuko doesn’t do any of those things.

He’s out of the spray but dripping wet, and he can feel the drop of water slip off of his hair, down his neck, sliding downwards past his collarbone. Sokka’s stare, dark and blue and gorgeous, follows it with an intensity that makes Zuko shiver.

“You’re getting wet,” Zuko points out quietly. If he’s too loud, the spell will snap, and he wants to stay here forever.

“It’s fine.” Sokka’s voice cracks a little, and he’s not moving.

“The _floor’s_ getting wet.”

That of all things is what makes Sokka move, and Zuko has just enough time to mourn for the brevity before he realizes that Sokka isn’t moving _away_. Instead, he takes one large step over the edge of the tub and shuts the shower curtain, takes one more until he and Zuko are barely a handspan apart.

The tile on his back is cold.

“Anything else?”

Zuko is _dying_. Is he living in a porno? Is he asleep? Did he actually fall and hit his head, and now his stupid brain is shuffling through every filthy fantasy he’s ever had since the tender age of seventeen from the safety of a coma? Zuko doesn’t know what he looks like right now, probably an absolute wreck, plastered against the cold tile, wide-eyed and weak with suddenly getting everything his libido has ever wanted all at once. 

Sokka licks his lips again and lets go of Zuko’s arms, only to slide those hands up his bare shoulders, trailing up his throat, finally stopping to cradle Zuko’s cheeks in both of his palms. One of his thumbs brushes a water droplet off of Zuko’s cheekbone.

“Anything else?” He repeats, and the intensity of his voice weakens Zuko all the way down to his bones. Zuko knows _exactly_ what he wants.

He wants to be kissed and he wants to be touched and if that goes well he wants to be fucked, too. He wants everything that Sokka wants to give him, even if he doesn’t deserve it. Zuko wants so badly that he burns and still, even now, he finds himself frozen.

All he can manage is to lift his chin, just a little desperately. He doesn’t know how to ask for what he wants but _god,_ that hasn’t ever stopped him from wanting.

Sokka hisses out a hard exhale.

“ _Fuck it_ ,” he mumbles emphatically under his breath, tips Zuko’s chin up the rest of the way, and leans in to kiss him, first tentatively and then with more confidence when Zuko doesn’t shove him away. 

Zuko couldn’t shove him away even if he wanted to, and Sokka’s lips on his are so distracting that he even forgets, _completely fucking forgets_ , that he’s not wearing a single stitch. Zuko closes the distance between them until he’s pressed up close to Sokka’s chest, wet skin on wet clothing. He kisses back like he’s been drowning and Sokka’s his first breath of fresh air.

If he’s going to fuck this up, then he’s going to fuck it up properly.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Sokka mutters and wraps a strong arm around Zuko’s shoulders to hold him close, takes advantage of Zuko’s distraction to lick into his open mouth. 

_Oh my god_ is fuckin’ right.

Zuko can’t handle this—he has to touch or he’s going to die, and slides his palms up underneath the wet fabric sticking to Sokka’s back. He’s all warm, slick skin and muscle and it’s everything Zuko ever wanted.

And it seems that, even when otherwise occupied, Sokka doesn’t know how to shut up.

“Oh my god, Zuko, fuck,” he chants softly into Zuko’s mouth, “ _Fuck_. You’re so fucking pretty. Been wanting to do this _forever_ , shit.” He pulls away (and for just a split second, Zuko thinks his heart might break) just long enough to tug his wet shirt over his head and let it drop to the bottom of the tub. “Is it okay? Please say it’s okay.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Zuko manages when he has enough air in his lungs to speak, “It’s good, _please._ ” If Sokka decides that he’s no good and wants to stop, Zuko might actually die. He might also cry himself to sleep for the rest of his life, but first he’ll definitely die. Sokka’s body is about the most gorgeous thing that Zuko’s ever seen in his life.

Sokka’s touching him like he’s making up for lost time, and the steady pressure of his hand is a hot, undeniable brand on the small of Zuko’s back.

Go big or go home, Zuko decides abruptly, when temptation becomes too much and he realizes that he has to taste the skin of Sokka’s throat, and presses sharp little testing nips down his jawline to get there. Sokka shivers and tilts his head to give him access, and Zuko lets himself nose into the soft space underneath his ear, lips at his earlobe and then goes about sucking a bruise into the other man’s pulse point.

“Feels good, dude, feels really good.”

“I’m naked and you’re calling me _dude_?” Zuko asks, yanked out of his own delightful fog of arousal to be just a little offended. “ _Really_?”

And oh, shit, he _is_ still naked. Zuko had forgotten about it for a second but now he’s very, very aware of it. He feels exposed and vulnerable and he’s not entirely sure how he feels about it.

Sokka just grins at him a little and leans in to nip at Zuko’s lower lip.

“Dude’s no good? Hmmm.” His grin widens. “What about something else? Baby? Honey? _Sweetheart_?”

Zuko cannot have predicted what hearing those particular words come out of Sokka’s mouth would do to him but the effect is instant and undeniable. Someone makes a funny little reedy whine and it takes a second for Zuko to realize that it came from him. He stares, wide-eyed and shook, to meet Sokka’s expression of shocked delight.

He swallows hard and feels the silence between them echo even over the noise of the shower.

Until, “Holy shit, that’s a thing? You’re into that?”

“...Apparently?” Zuko was not aware that that was a thing. That it could even _be_ a thing. Mai sure as hell never called him anything like that, and Jet? Well. Zuko would have preferred being called ‘dude’ to some of the things that had come out of his mouth. The first time Zuko had ever tried out any form of pet name it had felt weird and awkward, but it feels good coming from Sokka.

Sokka says _sweetheart_ like it comes naturally, and it feels _so good_ that Zuko feels like his knees are going to drop out from under him. It feels like it was made for him and it makes his heart hurt.

“I did not see that coming, not gonna lie,” Sokka tells him, “I ain’t mad about it, but I wouldn’t have called that one.”

“Don’t say ‘ain’t’,” Zuko grumbles. 

“I’ll say whatever I want, sweetheart.”

Zuko can feel himself going red despite the chill that comes from being out of the spray of the shower. He’s been prone to blushing his whole life, but he’s never been more aware of it than he is now, especially when Sokka grins at him and follows its path with a wet, indulgent trace of his finger. 

Zuko shivers again, but not from the cold. He refuses to look down and see the state of his dick. Jacking off or no jacking off, Zuko knows for a solid fact that he’s neither down nor out.

“Hey, you _do_ know that you’re naked, right?”

“I’m fairly aware of that, yes. Thanks for the reminder?”

Sokka’s hands find Zuko’s hips and tug him closer so that they’re pressed up flush together.

“Can I blow you? Please? Since you’re naked, and all.” Sokka’s thumbs rub sweet, soothing patterns into Zuko’s hip bones.

Zuko could no more tell him no right now than he could stop his own heart.

“Well, if it’s a matter of convenience…” he mumbles instead of _yes, yes,_ **_please_ ** _do that_ , and gets the glorious visual of Sokka dropping down to his knees. He adjusts his dropped shirt as a cushion and shifts his grip on Zuko’s hips to grab two handfuls of his ass instead. Sokka’s pupils are huge with lust and Zuko feels lightheaded, like he’s going to float away any moment.

“Jesus, you’re pretty.”

Zuko is going to _die_ here.

“ _You’re_ pretty,” is all Zuko’s stupid mouth can come up with it, but it’s enough because Sokka’s mouth splits into a bright grin, and he presses a kiss to Zuko’s hip that comes with a gentle scrape of teeth that makes him shiver.

“Flirt,” Sokka teases and then without warning takes Zuko’s dick into his mouth, all the way to the back of his throat. It’s a lot all at once and Zuko yelps, scrabbling for purchase on the tile and finding none. Sokka grabs one of his hands and puts it on his head and pulls off just long enough to say, “Balance on me, okay? I won’t let you fall.”

Sokka’s wrong, though, Zuko thinks through the sharp, too-good haze of the pleasure that comes from a talented mouth and the feeling of finally getting his hands in that dark hair. It’s too late. Zuko’s already fallen, years ago.

He just didn’t know that there was so much farther to go.

It’s so much feeling, so much and so suddenly, that his heart wants to break.

Sokka knows what he’s doing. He’s enthusiastic and seems to take as much pleasure from Zuko’s reactions as anything else, visibly cataloguing all the places he’s particularly sensitive and what he seems to like most and returning to them when it’s most unexpected. It’s like he’s playing a game that only he knows the rules to, and Zuko knows from the start that he’s going to lose and can’t even be mad about it because what a way to go.

Zuko is mortified at the sounds that Sokka’s managed to pull out of him, can’t even recognize his own voice in the ragged, broken moans and whispery sighs. He’s wreckage, and he’s wrecked, and all he knows how to do right now is hold on, try not to fall over, and yield to Sokka’s bound determination to ruin him.

Zuko’s whole body seizes when Sokka uses his hand and his mouth on him at the same time, and it’s so good and it’s _so much_ , and all he can do is give Sokka’s hair a warning tug.

“Sokka, I’m gonna—S-Sokka—“

“It’s cool, honey, I want you to. Come on, Zuko, _please_. You gonna come for me?”

Sokka’s free hand is palming himself.

And it’s that, in the end, that does it. Not the feeling of Sokka’s perfect, talented mouth or the way he can use a single hand to keep Zuko in one piece without even trying, but the way he’s touching himself and the note of desperation in his voice that makes it all too clear that Sokka’s generosity isn’t out of any sort of altruism.

Zuko comes with a sharp, bitten-off cry that sounds very much like a sob, all over Sokka’s gorgeous, smiling face.

And then the heat pounding through his veins is replaced with cold chill down to his bones and Zuko’s vision swims, he sways, and then drops like a rock.

The afterwards is a haze of Sokka’s horrified concern and a scramble to get Zuko’s brain back together. Zuko comes back to coherency and finds himself sitting in a boneless huddle in the tub, a warm towel wrapped around him and Sokka hunched down on his heels in front of him.

“Oh, thank god. Are you okay?”

Zuko wants to _die._

More specifically, he wants to cry until he’s too exhausted for further humiliation and _then_ die, spectacularly. Preferably with fireworks.

Sokka’s right there and Zuko can’t manage to even look at him. He’s too mortified for words. He’s too mortified for _existence._ Not just because of the perfect storm of factors—too much blood in his dick and not enough in his brain, the sweltering heat of the shower and lack of sleep, and coming twice in the span of twenty minutes that lead to him nearly passing out after the hurricane of his teenage fantasies come to life, but...all of it. The fact that it happened. The fact that Zuko’s managed, somehow, to irreparably fuck up the one good, pure thing he’d gotten all by himself. The fact that Zuko still doesn’t know how to breathe properly and his heart races hard in his temples.

The fact that Sokka’s still _here_ and still looks so worried, has one hand on Zuko’s arm and the other running lines up and down his back.

Zuko buries his face in his arms and prays for death, which does not arrive for him.

“I’m...I’m okay,” he finally manages to whisper, because Sokka deserves _something_ out of him that isn’t horrible, awful silence and shame. “I’m okay.”

“You don’t sound okay,” Sokka’s voice comes from closer than Zuko expects, like the other man had to lean forward to hear him. “Can I hug you?”

Zuko should say no because he’s a weak asshole as it is, but he can’t. In the end all he can do is nod helplessly into the darkness of his arms and try to hold it together when he’s folded up in a warm, comforting embrace. Sokka still isn’t wearing a shirt and Zuko can feel _his_ heart pounding too, a hard, rhythmic beat in Zuko’s ears.

“I’m sorry.”

Sokka freezes all his movements. Zuko doesn’t have to look at him to know the expression on his face.

“...Why are you _sorry_?”

Zuko has so many words, and he can’t seem to say any of them. They stick in the back of his throat, even when he opens his mouth to speak . He doesn’t know how to say _I feel like I took advantage of you and ruined_ **_everything_ ** without making it real. 

He doesn’t deserve the kindness or the hand gently untangling his hair or how good it feels to be squeezed by someone strong enough to hold him.

“I messed up,” Zuko finally chokes out, miserable in his own honesty. “I wanted—I just—I didn’t ever mean to—to push you. I fucked it up, Sokka. I fucked it all up and I’m _sorry_ , okay?”

Zuko waits for Sokka to pull away, to agree, waits for the inevitable _you know what, I think you’re right_ to come. It never does. Instead, he hears a deep, gusty sigh close to his ear and feels the light, unexpected pressure of a kiss on the top of his head.

“Okay. So I’m gonna go ahead and stop you right the fuck there.” Sokka’s hold on him is gentle but his voice is nothing but resolute. “Did you, like, totally miss the part where I got into the shower with _you_ ? I don’t know where you got this idea that you were in it alone, because I’m pretty sure that I was right there, enthusiastically consenting. If anyone should be apologizing it should be me; I didn’t come in here intending to reenact a porno. I really _did_ just need to wash my hands. But then I thought you were going to get hurt, and I just...god. If you could have seen yourself.”

“Did you mean it?”

“Huh?”

Zuko finally drags his face up and manages to look Sokka in the eyes, bright gold boring into ocean blue.

“When you said you’ve wanted to kiss me forever. Did you mean it?”

Sokka laughs, but there’s not a drop of meanness in it. Just pure, unbridled disbelief.

“Oh my god. Oh my _god_ , man. You...you seriously didn’t know. Jesus. I owe Toph _so much money,_ what the fuck.” Sokka’s hands come up to frame Zuko’s cheeks, tilting his face and leaning forward so that they’re nose to nose. “I’ve liked you _forever._ You really didn’t know?”

Zuko’s horrible, awful brain screeches to a roaring halt.

“I...no? I did not. At all. I—no.”

With a helpless laugh, Sokka drops his head so it fits in the cradle where Zuko’s neck meets his shoulder. 

“So you thought I just, what? Started doing my Twitch streams shirtless just because?”

“I thought you were broke.”

“Oh my god. _Dude._ How many people do you think would seriously pay money for that?”

_A lot_ , is what Zuko doesn’t say. 

“I’m still naked,” is what he says instead and definitely doesn’t whine about it, “Don’t call me dude.”

The look on Sokka’s face promises that Zuko will regret that.

“Okay then, _sweetheart_.” Even wrung out and tired, the word still spikes a shiver down through Zuko’s entire body, “You didn’t think it was just a little bit weird that I only ever seemed to do it when you were home and stood a good chance of coming into the room?”

“I—fuck.” Suddenly, Zuko’s indignant on his own behalf. “You’re not that observant either! I spent the first two years of undergrad refusing to wear sleeves after you made a comment about my arms! _I stole like three of your hoodies, you dumbass._ ”

For a moment, all they can do is just stare at each other. Zuko’s terror has been replaced with fond exasperation and the strangest feeling of _it figures_. It doesn’t figure. Like, at all.

That’s been such a major theme of Zuko’s life that he’s not entirely sure how to reconcile with it: Zuko does not get what he wants. It’s easier to keep his wants and needs to himself, even now, because he knows at his core that he won’t get it. 

But not this time.

Zuko’s natural suspicion tells him to be wary but he _knows_ Sokka, and knows that he doesn’t lie to him, except when the food is too spicy and he doesn’t want to admit it. Sokka wouldn’t lie about something important.

If Sokka says that he has feelings for him, then Zuko has no choice but to believe him.

Zuko heaves out a very deep sigh and slumps forward, wraps an arm around Sokka’s neck and squeezes. The towel slips off his shoulders and he shivers despite himself.

“Okay, it’s time to get out of the tub. Come on, up,” Somehow Sokka manages to maneuver both of them upright and out of the bathtub. “You’re gonna get cold. And, uh…” he gives Zuko a sheepish smile. “I made lunch. It might not be hot anymore. But I made it. Go get dressed and come eat something.”

The first thing Zuko does when he gets to his bedroom and shuts his door is grab a pillow and scream into it.

* * *

When Zuko drags himself back downstairs, he’s dressed in one of Sokka’s stolen hoodies and joggers and fluffy socks. He’s never had the balls to wear it outside his bedroom but he’s admitted that he has it now, so he might as well.

Sokka’s just finishing up eating when Zuko pads his way into the kitchen.

“Hey, stranger. Nice hoodie.”

Zuko scoops out the rest of the rice from the pot into a bowl and covers it with orange chicken. His missing appetite is back with a vengeance and he’s suddenly ravenously hungry. How much of that has to do with magically being a functional human being versus how much it’s related to his own feelings of relief remain to be seen.

Before he can sit down, though, Sokka beckons him over to his side of the table.

“C’mere for a second?”

Zuko goes, and Sokka tugs him down by his collar for a kiss.

“What was that for?”

Sokka grins at him.

“‘Cause I wanted to. And I’m not worried about you smacking me for it, now.”

Zuko sits down and feels like he lives on another planet. A better, sexier planet. What’s it matter if they can’t leave the house? Zuko’s getting _just because_ kisses. He doesn’t need to leave the house.

“Can I...I mean, if I want, just because…?”

“Oh my god.” This time Sokka comes to him, drive-by dropping his own dishes in the sink on the way. He sits himself firmly in Zuko’s lap. “Maybe if I sit on you, I’ll be able to make myself clear.” He leans forward and presses his forehead against Zuko’s. “You can do whatever you want to me, whenever you want to me. Provided that it’s, like, socially acceptable for the situation. I told you, I’ve liked you _forever._ If you want to kiss me, I want you to kiss me. If you want to do something else? Just ask. I’m easy, okay? I’m _so easy_.”

“I want to date you,” Zuko’s stupid mouth blurts out. “Like, properly. When we can leave the house and actually do stuff. I wanna take you out to dinner and hold your hand in public and go feed ducks in the park with you.” 

Just for a second, Sokka’s face shutters with blank shock before it’s replaced with something soft, warm, and pleased.

“ _Geez._ You squishy romantic. I want to do all that stuff with you too.”

Zuko kisses him, just because. 

This should be weird, and the weirdest thing about it is that it’s not weird. At all. It feels _right._ It feels _good_.

Sokka drops his face into Zuko’s neck and takes a deep sniff.

“God, your bougie soap is nice. Maybe if I’m real nice to you, you’ll let me use it.”

“Don’t push your luck—“ Zuko cuts off at the feeling of lips on his throat, “— _fuck._ You keep your hands off my soap. It’s expensive. You keep using your Irish Spring and keep your hands off.”

“I don’t know, I thought you liked it when I was hands on?”

“Oh my _god._ ” The joke is _so bad_ but Zuko laughs anyway. “Now scoot. I’m hungry.”

“I see how it is,” Sokka grumbles dramatically, but moves out of Zuko’s lap anyway, tugging gently on Zuko’s dark hair as he goes. “You got everything you wanted and now you’ve got no use for me. You only have eyes for _food_.”

Zuko’s already stuffed a mouthful of orange chicken into his mouth and nearly spits it out.

“ _What_?”

“Enjoy your food, honey,” Sokka teases and then ducks back down to kiss Zuko on the forehead, leaving the room with a bounce in his step.

Baffled, Zuko stares into his bowl of rice and orange chicken as if that’s going to somehow explain his weirdo roommate when over ten years of friendship hasn’t managed.

* * *

Zuko’s been trying desperately to sleep for the last hour.

He doesn’t remember the last goodnight kiss he got that wasn’t somehow a goodbye kiss too, but Sokka grabs him on his way upstairs, folds him into a warm hug, and makes Zuko twenty minutes late for his scheduled bedtime. 

Not that it matters because sleep isn’t happening. 

At all.

Zuko groans into his pillow.

Maybe he should just give up and go back downstairs. Sokka was getting ready to get neck-deep in an online match in Modern Warfare so he’s probably still at it; Zuko’s managed to fall asleep to the sounds of gunfire and swearing before, he can do it again.

In the end, he doesn’t need to.

There’s a knock on the door and Zuko jerks at the unexpected noise.

“Yes?”

The door opens with a click and Sokka pops his head in, looking...nervous. He’s holding a pillow in his hands.

“Uh. I’m...I'm kind of tired of not knowing what time it is. Or what day it is. Can I sleep with you?”

Zuko swallows hard and nods. It’s not the first time in a decade that they’ve shared a bed but it’s the first time that they’ve shared a bed like _this_ , and his heart pounds a heavy staccato against his ribs. Sokka has no right to look sexy in a pair of blue basketball shorts and an oversized _Naruto_ t-shirt but he _does,_ and Zuko’s unreasonably irritated about it. Nevertheless, he tugs up the corner of the comforter and scoots over to make room.

Sokka slides in between the covers and rolls over to face Zuko, who’s suddenly having a really difficult time looking him in the eyes. He feels like an awkward sixteen again instead of the equally awkward twenty-six that he is currently.

“Hi,” he finally mumbles and scoots closer to tuck himself solidly into Sokka’s chest, tilts his head up to kiss him on the cheek. “I’m glad you’re here. I was going to come down and bother you, but I think that this is better.”

Sokka lets out a breath that sounds almost like relief and kisses Zuko on the top of his dark head, his thumb making soft passes over the exposed skin of his hip where his sleep shirt has ridden up. It’s not even remotely salacious, but it makes Zuko’s toes curl.

His insides feel warm and twisty, and his skin fizzes.

“You’ve been up here for like an hour, though. That’s a long time to be trying to sleep.”

Sokka has _no_ idea. Zuko’s lucky if it only takes an hour. He doesn’t say this. Instead he nuzzles into Sokka’s collarbone and gives it a testing kiss, just to see what happens. 

Sokka shivers.

“I mean...it could be that you’re just not—“ Zuko grazes his teeth over skin and Sokka’s words stutter, “—just not tired enough. You know. To get to sleep.”

“I think you might be right,” Zuko whispers, peering up at him through his eyelashes. He doesn’t need to be loud; Sokka hears him loud and clear if the way his pupils dilate is any indication. “It’s been really _hard_ , you know?”

Sokka snorts.

“Quit stealing my jokes, you tease. You’re the pretty one; I’m the funny one.”

“Maybe we can both be pretty? And funny?” Zuko offers slyly, rubs his bare foot on Sokka’s ankle. “And hard.”

Sokka sputters out a choking breath that turns into a laugh that turns into something that Zuko can’t identify, just seconds before he shifts to roll into his back. Zuko’s on the cusp of worrying that he read this wrong and took a bad turn somewhere before Sokka reaches out with both hands, grabs him by his ass, and hauls him up to straddle his hips.

“What are you—?”

“ _Sweetheart,_ ” Sokka croons, looks up at Zuko with a funny, knowing smile that makes Zuko’s stomach flip over. “If you want something, just ask for it. I’ll give you anything you want.”

“Don’t say that,” Zuko says, and feels warm tendrils of lust start creeping down his spine, “You don’t know what I’ll ask for.”

“ _Anything,_ okay?” Sokka’s hands on Zuko’s hips are steady and firm, “Just ask me, please.”

“What if I wanted a kitten?”

“Done. We’ll go to the shelter as soon as lockdown’s over.”

“What if I wanted you to cook for a whole week?”

“Enjoy your week of mac and cheese, babe.”

“What if I wanted your Xbox?”

“You’ve already got a profile on it and it’ll give me an excuse to buy a new one. That’s actually a great plan, then we can play together. You might be the pretty one _and_ the smart one.”

Zuko worries his lower lip between his teeth.

“What if I wanted you to fuck me?”

The noise that comes out of Sokka’s mouth goes straight to Zuko’s dick.

“Oh my god. Oh my _god_ , yes, I want to fuck you. Whatever you fucking want.”

Shit, is this happening? Zuko did not plan on this happening but he’s not mad about it in the slightest. There’s not a force on this planet that could stop him from leaning down and kissing the man underneath him. It’s not a soft, gentle kiss, either—it’s hot and filthy and Sokka groans, open-mouthed, into it.

“You’ve got—you’ve got lube and stuff, right?” Zuko asks.

Sokka goes suspiciously still, suspiciously fast.

Zuko wilts.

“Sokka. _Sokkaaaaa_ ,” he whines. “Please, god, tell me you’ve got stuff. You watched me throw all mine out when I broke up with Jet.”

“I didn’t know that this was gonna be happening!” Sokka protests, but his grip on Zuko’s hips doesn’t waver and neither does his growing boner. “I’ve got condoms! And...some lotion?”

Zuko levels him an unimpressed stare, despite his own erection persistently tenting his sweatpants. 

“Sokka,” he says, “We are grownups. Kind of. No one is getting fucked in this bedroom—or this apartment,” he continues when Sokka opens his mouth to make an undoubtedly smart remark, “in any way involving me, with lotion. We are better than that. We’ll just…” He _is_ a little disappointed. “We’ll just order some. And wait until it arrives.”

Sokka gives him a searching look, and then grins. That grin widens when Zuko cocks his head with confusion.

“You know,” he offers, “There’s a lot of different ways to fuck someone.”

Zuko perks up, interested.

“I mean, I already blew you,” he continues conversationally, “But I could always eat you out. Or you could blow me. Or any combination of the above. But I think I’ve got a better idea.” Sokka waggles his eyebrows.

Zuko isn’t getting it. So Sokka grinds his dick against his ass.

“I think,” he says, “that these,” he tugs gently at the waistband of Zuko’s sweatpants, “should come off, and we’ll see where things go. You know, in these trying times.”

“I’m not sure you know what trying times mean,” Zuko replies and nevertheless helps Sokka work his pants down his hips by shimmying, not even a little bit accidentally, against Sokka’s dick. He feels a little ridiculous and somehow more naked wearing a t-shirt and no pants than he did in the shower.

“Of course I do—lift up a bit,” Sokka slides his shorts all the way down and rubs his erection against the slope of Zuko’s ass. “Life is _hard_ , honey. You’re good at keeping it together but not that good. Like I haven’t seen these—“ Sokka reaches up to smudge gently at Zuko’s under eyes, “Getting worse? You’ve scheduled your time down to the minute. You’ve scheduled your _bathroom breaks_. Has it done you any good?”

Zuko winces. Sokka’s not joking and Zuko wasn’t expecting the heart to heart. Maybe that’s why Sokka chose to bring it up now, when Zuko can’t defend himself.

He opens his mouth to speak and then closes it. He’s got nothing to say, because he’s spent the last week feeling quietly sanctimonious over handling it all so well when the truth is that he hasn’t been dealing well at all.

“So here’s what we’re going to do,” Sokka continues. Zuko should feel like he’s being attacked but Sokka’s voice is way too gentle to be even remotely threatening, washing over Zuko like warm, ocean waves. “I’m going to work you out until your brain doesn’t work anymore, and then I’m going to be exactly as clingy as I’ve wanted to be for the last eternity and snuggle the shit out of you all night. And then in the morning, I want you to try following _my_ schedule.”

“But you don’t—“

“Have one, yup. But I’m going to make one for us. Bedtime, getting up time, work time. That’s it. Nothing else.”

“But—“

Sokka reaches up and cradles Zuko’s cheeks, running his thumb over the scarred, roughened skin by his eye.

“You’re structuring yourself too much, and I’m not doing it enough. Let me do this for us, okay? If one good thing can come out of a scary situation, can it be that I can finally spend all the time I want with you? Will you let me take care of you?”

This is too serious a conversation to have when neither of them are wearing pants, so Zuko nods and tries to swallow down the sudden lump in his throat, leans down and kisses Sokka with a ferocity that neither of them expect.

“ _Yes_ ,” he says, finally, when he manages to pull himself away, “Please do that. Please take care of me.”

“I’ve got you,” Sokka confirms, “And just to like...not cross any lines, because I have, like, _none_ , is there anything specific that you don’t like? I mean, for sexy stuff.”

“Don’t pull my hair,” Zuko answers immediately. “Other than that, I think I’m good.” Anything else he can think of that he doesn't like, he can’t see Sokka being into. He shivers a little when Sokka’s hand presses into the small of his back, slipping up the back of his t-shirt. “Fuck.”

“I’ve got you.”

“I’m so mad about the lube.”

Sokka grins at him.

“I know,” he says ruefully, “We’ll still have fun. If you don’t, you’ll get your money back.”

“What money? I didn’t pay for you.”

Zuko yelps in surprise when Sokka abruptly cups a handful of his ass and squeezes, rolling his hips up.

“Can you lose the shirt for me, sweetie? I didn’t get a good enough look in the shower.”

Zuko doesn’t think twice about yanking his t-shirt up over his head and nearly whacking his hands on the blades of the ceiling fan.

“I think you got a pretty good look. You seemed to do plenty of it.”

“No, not even close,” Sokka insists, “You don’t even know what you fucking look like right now, do you? You’re _so_ pretty. God.” Zuko feels the red of a blush start in his cheeks and slip down his neck. “Hasn’t anyone ever said that to you? You look so surprised.”

Zuko _is_ surprised. His eyes are a little unusual but that’s normal for his family, but the rest of him is nothing special. Sokka is the pretty one, with his blue eyes and dark skin and shoulders broad enough to make Zuko feel like he can keep him safe.

“I…no.”

“That is a goddamned tragedy.” Sokka yanks him down to kiss him and then tucks Zuko’s face into the crook of his neck. A thin little whisper of a whine squeaks out of Zuko’s throat when the tip of Sokka’s cock brushes his entrance and he tries to smother it, but not quickly enough. It doesn’t feel quite like fucking but it feels _good._ Zuko’s never done it like this before and he’s surprised by how much he enjoys it. 

It’s not any kind of sex he’s ever had, but it doesn’t make it any less important.

“Do you like this?” Sokka asks, and Zuko nods hard into his neck without looking up, “Fuck, honey, I wanna give it to you for real. And you’re so quiet, it makes me want to work harder. Can I touch you?” Zuko feels like he might die if Sokka touches him any more than he already is but he wants it so bad, and gives another enthusiastic nod.

It’s a shock when Sokka _does_ touch him, strokes a hand indulgently over himself first, pets gently at the swell of Zuko’s ass, and then brushes his fingertip down to his center where he desperately wants that attention. It’s a lot all at once between wanting Sokka’s cock inside him but wanting his fingers too and being able to have none of it without pain. 

Even knowing that he’d regret it instantly, it’s still so tempting.

“Oh my god, you want it _so bad._ ” Sokka’s staring up at Zuko like he’s never seen him before, eyes blown out wide with arousal and only a thin ring of blue around his pupils. “You really do, huh?”

He presses the tip of his dick against Zuko’s entrance and rubs but makes no attempt to enter, holds his hips down for more friction, groaning hard when Zuko rocks against him.

“Sokka, S-Sokka,” Zuko wants to fucking _cry_ , it feels so good but it’s not enough and he’s going to die here in this bed.

“I’m gonna take such good care of you,” Sokka promises, “ _Such_ good care of you, okay? Gonna fuck you properly like you deserve.”

“I want you to, I want you to—“

That’s embarrassingly close to a sob, and Zuko wraps a hand around himself for the first time in what feels like an eternity, fucking into the circle of his fingers.

“ _Yes_ , sweetheart, touch yourself for me. You’re so good, you feel _so good_.” Sokka wraps an arm around Zuko’s waist and tugs so that they’re practically plastered together. “Come here, lemme kiss you.”

Zuko is one hundred percent always down for being kissed and that doesn’t change now; he _loves_ it.

“You’re gonna come for me, right?”

“That’s not—“ Zuko heaves a shaky breath, “That’s not fair. I came first earlier—“

“And you can do it again,” Sokka says with a grin, “Come on, please? I _want_ you to.” He wriggles a little until that stupid, annoying _Naruto_ shirt is hiked up over his nipples. “Right here, sweetie.”

Zuko wants to say that he is not some sort of easy, one-trick pony who comes on command, but apparently that is a lie, because the pleading look on Sokka’s beautiful face and the torturous friction and the way that Sokka looks spellbound watching Zuko stroke himself off is too much. Zuko’s quiet when he comes, muffling the sounds into his palm, all over Sokka’s belly.

“That’s it sweetheart, that’s it—“ And then Sokka’s coming too, kissing Zuko openmouthed through it.

Zuko’s stupid brain feels like it’s been fucked right out of his head. He’s dazed and hazy through Sokka’s gentle maneuvering and hasty cleanup with the towel dragged out of his laundry hamper. It feels good to not have to think, to just float in a fog of warm, post-orgasmic bliss and feel, for the first time in a very long time, like life is going to be okay.

Zuko pillows his head on Sokka’s arm and tucks his nose against his ribs to idly press tired kisses in the spaces between them.

“Oh my _god_ , you’re so fucking cute. This is unreal.”

“Shut up,” Zuko says, “You asked for this.”

“Yeah, I did.” Sokka’s voice is warm and amused, and Zuko looks up just in time to see the charmed smile curl his lips up. It’s a nice expression, Zuko decides. He wants to see it again. “Sleep time?”

“Sleep time,” Zuko agrees. He bats at the switch to turn the light off and only takes three tries before he gets it.

Not bad for a Tuesday, he thinks. It’s not every day that one gets to bag the love of their life.

“ _What did you just say_?”

But Zuko doesn’t hear shit, because he’s already asleep.

* * *

Zuko sleeps past 8am. 

He sleeps past 8am all the way into the early afternoon and wakes up to sunshine streaming in through the window.

He wakes up alone.

Just for a second Zuko thinks that he may have made it all up, except that he’s naked and he _never_ sleeps naked, and Sokka’s horrible t-shirt is on the floor. Zuko stares at it for a moment and then stuffs it into his own laundry hamper. You snooze, you lose. 

Maybe someone else would be worried that he’d become an unwitting victim of a fuck-and-duck, but short of really, really misreading the vibe last night, Zuko’s pretty sure that he’s good. At any rate, there’s nowhere to go right now, and he can hear the faint sounds of fighting noises and muffled swearing from the living room.

Sokka is exactly where Zuko expected him to be: on the couch and dressed in clean pajamas, controller in his hands. His laptop is open on the coffee table but Zuko pays it no mind. 

“Hi,” he says quietly upon entering the room. 

Sokka looks up and beams at him.

“Hey, stranger. Welcome back to the land of the living.”

“We still on lockdown?”

“Yup.”

“Cool.”

Zuko thinks, very briefly of the schedule he’d written up for Wednesdays, color-coded and completely blocked out. He eyes Sokka on the couch.

The decision, in the end, in the end, is an easy one.

Zuko doesn’t just sit on the couch—he collapses onto it next to Sokka and pushes at him a little until he lifts his arms enough for Zuko to press himself up against his side. Sokka puts down the controller and leans over to press a kiss into his hair. 

Sokka’s laptop immediately starts pinging repeatedly, and Zuko looks at the screen…

And freezes.

“Hello to you too, sweetie,” Sokka says. “Say hi to everyone on Twitch.”

* * *

  
  
  
  



	2. Bonus scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a little extra scene, because you’re worth it.

* * *

  
Meryl has been watching OkayBoomerang stream his video gaming on Twitch for _years_ like a long-running soap opera, and if that poor man doesn’t do something about the thing with his roommate, she’s going to explode.

She remembers the first time she watched one of his videos and saw this cute, dorky-looking college kid wearing a nerd shirt and rambling about the tattoo he wants to get. A charming dweeb if Meryl had ever seen one, OkayBoomerang is funny and weird and she subscribes to his channel even if she doesn’t always even care about what he’s playing.

And then Meryl sees The Roommate and she’s done for, because the second OkayBoomerang sees him, his face goes so warm and soft and squishy that she’s embarrassed to even see it.

_dude is that your boyfriend?_ She remembers typing hysterically into the chat, and is furious when he replies in the negative.

Jesus Christ. What a drama. Meryl is hooked.

It only gets worse from there.

The Roommate, aka The Love Interest, aka _GODDAMN_ , aka The Love Of This Poor Fucker’s Life shows up in the background of OkayBoomerang’s streams fairly regularly over the years. OkayBoomerang gets taller and a real job and a few more tattoos and The Roommate gets taller and prettier and grows out his hair and never goes away, but the _pining._ God, the pining that this poor dumb idiot has for that man.

And the worst part is that she doesn’t even have to know either of them to be ninety-nine percent sure that The Roommate has some soft, squishy feelings of his own, because sometimes he stops just on the edge of the camera’s view on a drive-by and just watches the other man play. It’s sweet, sappy, and completely disgusting.

Meryl wants to die.

_hey you know what you should do_ , she types one night, _bait his ass. Just like, chill out on the couch and play games shirtless every time he’s home._

That makes him laugh for a good five minutes, but the next time he streams, there he is, guns out and not a scrap of fabric on his torso. It’s a good torso, she notes. The tattoos are lovely.

In the background, The Roommate walks directly into a wall, and Meryl laughs herself sick.

Meryl hasn’t left her house in a week and a half that Wednesday morning. She gets the notification that OkayBoomerang’s starting a stream and pops in from the app, because leaving bed is for suckers.

And then it happens about an hour in. 

In walks The Roommate, aka Holy Shit.

“Hey, stranger,” OkayBoomerang says. The sheer amount of affection that comes out in two words is gross as hell and Meryl loves it. “Welcome back to the land of the living.” 

The Roommate is normally pretty good about noticing when he’s streaming, but he doesn’t notice now, or he probably wouldn’t have done the thing he does next. Which happens to be making a beeline for the couch and curling up underneath OkayBoomerang’s arm.

OkayBoomerang kisses the top of his head, Meryl sits up in bed, and starts scream-typing into the chat box.

The second that The Roommate notices the webcam and open laptop is a visible one. He goes very still and his eyes go huge, and Meryl starts laughing.

“Hello to you too, sweetie,” OkayBoomerang says. “Say hi to everyone on Twitch.”

Meryl rolls around on her bed like a caterpillar and shrieks, sending OkayBoomerang a private message asking for an address. 

Those morons are getting an edible arrangement.

* * *

  
  



End file.
